


had to start it somewhere

by renaissance



Series: Pynch Week 2016 [6]
Category: Raven Cycle - Maggie Stiefvater
Genre: Alternate Universe - Grocery Store, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-18
Updated: 2016-08-18
Packaged: 2018-08-09 13:48:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,873
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7804249
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/renaissance/pseuds/renaissance
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              
<p></p><blockquote>
  <p>
    <i>Bird seed, as it turns out, is spectacularly hard to dream. The first time he tries, he wakes up with a room full of grains, and Chainsaw won’t even touch any of them. The second time, the seeds are shaped like birds, and there are only six and a half of them. The third time, Ronan gives up and goes to the grocery store.</i>
  </p>
</blockquote><br/>Pynch Week day 6 – Grocery Store
            </blockquote>





	had to start it somewhere

**Author's Note:**

> Something light today! It's really just a shopping list. Although you wouldn't believe how out of hand this got—many thanks to Jo for helping me wrangle it into shape! And a shout-out to Billie for the concept and initial planning discussion.
> 
> (Side note: the title is from "Common People" by Pulp, because there's a bit about supermarkets and I'm uncreative)

  * bird seed (part 1)



Ronan’s life follows lines on a map, from the Monmouth to Aglionby to Nino’s, to church and through Henrietta in as little time as he can manage. He resents the town for having such a hold on him, for not being the Barns, for being so _boring_ sometimes. And he barely ever goes to the grocery store, unless Gansey’s busy, because Gansey likes doing most of the shopping for them—and if Ronan needs anything unusual, he just dreams it up.

Bird seed, as it turns out, is spectacularly hard to dream. The first time he tries, he wakes up with a room full of grains, and Chainsaw won’t even touch any of them. The second time, the seeds are shaped like birds, and there are only six and a half of them. The third time, Ronan gives up and goes to the grocery store.

All the pet food is in one place. Ronan can pick it from a mile away by the stench, like storage at a farm but much, much worse, because it’s all so heavily processed. The bird seed bags are all stacked to one side, erratic and lumpy from vacuum-sealing. Ronan takes the biggest, heaviest one, takes another, sends his trolley ahead and races it to the checkout.

The trolley rattles benignly to a halt at one of the checkout lanes, idling in front of a bemused cashier. Ronan offers no explanation when he joins it and hefts the bags of bird seed onto the conveyor belt to be scanned.

Ronan doesn’t make a habit of checking out strangers, but there’s something about this cashier that gets to him. He’s tall, and dusty like a photograph kept in a drawer and only brought out when there are curious visitors. All of his bones could be described as “prominent,” and his hands in particular—elegant long fingers that grip the barcode scanner, handling the bird seed like it might explode any minute.

His name tag reads, “Hi, my name is—”

Leaning forward, Ronan squints at the scribbly, slanted writing.

“—Adam.” And then, realising he said that aloud, adds, “Thanks.”

“You’re welcome,” Adam says, in a muted local accent. His gaze shifts between Ronan’s face and the bird seed. “What’s all this for?”

“My bird,” Ronan says, because, _duh_.

“Just one?” Adam asks. “Looks like you could feed an entire zoo with all this.”

Ronan narrows his eyes. “Whatever,” he says, because he’s so creative. He doesn’t pause to let Adam say anything else, but Adam’s half-smile stays with him all the way back to Monmouth.

Maybe going to the grocery store more often isn’t such a bad idea.

 

  * condoms



Ronan grabs the box of Trojans before anyone can see and nearly shoves them under his hoodie and walks right the fuck out. No eye contact, no crime. Of all the things to take from the toiletries aisle, why did his hand have to land on these? But he’s not here to steal condoms. He’s here to make eye contact and maybe small talk with Hi My Name Is Adam, the star of his last few dreams. He heads straight for Adam’s lane and practically slams the box down onto the conveyor belt.

He doesn’t see Adam’s face, but he hears his stifle a laugh.

“Shut up,” Ronan says.

“I didn’t say anything.” Adam pauses to scan the condoms. “You know I could get you thrown out of here for talking to me like that.”

It’s not a question.

Ronan doesn’t respond—his best option is so often silence, when what he really wants to say will get him in more shit than he has the energy to deal with. He manages to stay looking down and with his mouth shut until Adam asks him to pay.

“Shit.” It’s more expensive than he’d noticed, not that he can’t afford it. It just feels extravagant, unnecessary, a stupid length to go to just to be in the vicinity of the most attractive boy in all of Henrietta.

“What,” Adam says, “wrong size?”

 

  * razor blades



“You, uh… you shave your head with those?”

Ronan looks down at the two-pack of razor blades on the conveyor belt. He doesn’t. Of course he doesn’t. He just grabbed the first thing he saw in the discount bin.

“Yeah,” he says. If Adam wants to think he’s kinda hardcore—which would be an entirely correct assumption—then Ronan’s happy to let him.

Adam raises one of his perfectly-curved eyebrows. “And not like, an electric shaver?”

“You got a problem with that?”

“Not personally,” Adam says. “But I’m gonna need to see your ID before I can sell you these. I’d get in shit if it turns out you’re under twenty-one.”

Ronan shrugs. He’s had a fake ID since forever. It covers a multitude of sins. He watches the way Adam’s face changes as he realises—or thinks he does—that Ronan’s twenty-two.

“Huh,” Adam says. He looks from the ID to Ronan then back down at the ID. “Okay.”

“You gonna scan those or what?”

Adam hesitates for a moment. He hands Ronan back his ID and picks up the razor blades, turning the pack around in his fingers and examining it. “Well, I guess if you really want to use these on your hair, I can’t stop you. _Ronan_.”

“It’s none of your business anyway,” Ronan grumbles. Adam just grins at him.

When he gets back to Monmouth he looks at his purchase, really looks, and it’s not long before he realises they’re just replacement blades for some cheap manual razor. And nowhere on the packaging does it say you have to be over eighteen to buy them.

On the one hand, Adam totally played him. On the other hand, he did it to learn Ronan’s name—and it’s the longest conversation they’ve had yet, so Ronan counts it as a win.

 

  * half a cauliflower wrapped in clingfilm



“I’m not even going to ask what this is for,” Adam says.

 

  * bird seed (part 2)



Necessity sends Ronan to the grocery store this time. Half the bird seed is now part of Gansey’s model Henrietta, the gravel in a parking lot—Noah’s idea of a joke, Ronan’s idea of a nuisance—and there are only so many worms he can dream before he starts having nightmares with great squirming creatures twice his size.

Adam looks surprised to see him with more bird seed. “You ran out already?”

He also looks surprised about the raven perched on Ronan’s shoulder, but that seems secondary to his incredulity at how fast Chainsaw gets through her food.

Ronan shrugs.

“Well, I guess it’s a big bird,” Adam says slowly.

“She,” Ronan corrects.

“She,” Adam says. “What’s her name?”

“Chainsaw.”

Adam gives him a strange look. “Nothing surprises me anymore.”

Chainsaw caws, and Ronan reaches up to scratch her feathers. She loves the attention, even though Ronan doesn’t entirely—Adam is still pulling a face. He extends his hand forward just a little, and then pulls back.

“What,” Ronan says, “you want to touch her?”

Adam is hesitant. “Can I?”

Ronan shrugs. He watches as Adam strokes one of Chainsaw’s wings with a gentle, tentative touch. Chainsaw takes to him right away, nudging her beak against his thumb. Adam lets out a held breath and relaxes into a smile, and Ronan can’t take his eyes off him.

 

  * 2% skinny milk



Ronan is getting better at buying things he actually needs. Gansey sent him out for milk on the way home from school, “since you’ve taken to grocery shopping so keenly,” and Ronan doesn’t even question the order until he’s halfway to the grocery store.

He wonders if Gansey’s onto him.

At this stage, though, it just doesn’t matter. Ronan’s in way over his head. He sees Adam for a few minutes a few days a week, tops, so he has to make the most of it. It doesn’t even matter that he grabs the first bottle of milk he sees—2% skinny—and queues up in Adam’s lane, even though there’s another cashier just finishing up with someone. Ronan waits.

“Hey,” Adam says. They’re at the stage where they greet each other like friends. “What’s up?”

“Nothing,” Ronan says. He’s trying to be cordial, trying to make a slightly better impression than he’s been managing so far. “What about you?”

“I just got here,” Adam says. “It’s straight here after school or I go down a pay grade.”

No, scratch that, Ronan is shit at small talk. He can’t do this. “Must be a pretty shit job, then,” he says. “Why don’t you just quit?”

“Then who’d scan your groceries?” Adam jokes.

“There are other people who work here, you know,” Ronan says.

“You wouldn’t know it,” Adam mutters, but with no malice. “Well, here’s your milk.”

“Thanks,” Ronan says. “See you ‘round.”

Adam bites his bottom lip when he smiles. Ronan is not entirely pleased that he’s noticed this. “See you.”

When Ronan’s almost at the exit, Adam calls out, “Hey, Ronan! Nice school uniform.”

 

  * a four-pack of blue ballpoint pens



“More condoms,” Adam says. The scanner beeps in agreement. “What are you doing with all of these?”

Ronan smirks. “Use your imagination.”

It’s one of those things. If he were to stop and psychoanalyse it he’d say he keeps buying condoms because he’s trying to prove something—to Adam, or to himself, maybe—but he’s not in the habit of thinking too deeply about his motivations, so he just keeps buying condoms. They’re all hidden under his bed. If anyone found them, they’d probably get turned into part of downtown Henrietta, or maybe the Aglionby gym.

“My imagination, huh?” Adam says. “I reckon you do balloons. They probably keep helium in your science department. Or water balloons—good for pranks. How close am I?”

“Close enough,” Ronan says.

Adam gets to the pens—this is the first time Ronan’s put more than one item on his conveyor belt. “These for school?”

“School,” Ronan snorts. He knows Adam’s just asking to push his buttons, but this time Ronan has an actual answer. He rips open the pack and takes out one of the pens, offering it to Adam. “So you can give me your number.”

“You might want to buy some paper for that,” Adam says, “or better yet, an address book.”

Adam laughs at his own joke. It’s worth the half-hearted mockery just for that laugh. (And ever since Adam found out Ronan goes to Aglionby and is not, in fact, the twenty-two-year-old his ID claims, he makes fun of him a lot more often.)

“Just write it on my fucking hand,” Ronan snaps, sticking out his palm. He sucks in a breath when Adam takes his hand in both of his and turns it over, his touch delicate.

“It won’t do to write on your palm,” Adam says, voice quieter than usual. “It’ll just get sweaty and rub off.”

His handwriting isn’t half so messy for numbers. Ronan memorises it almost immediately.

“And just for reference,” Adam adds, “we keep a pen at every counter.”

“I’ll keep that in mind next time,” Ronan says, grimacing.

Adam hums. “Well, we might not meet here next time.”

**Author's Note:**

> Please leave a comment!


End file.
